managing your meatsuit

what no one has told you is thatyour bodyis rock hard armour of soft fleshand balled up tiny fistagainst the sharp dark night.

weak at the kneesand sight going like static on the tellyyou weed yourself after you fainted,warm urine seeping through a body outcold.

curling up into a ballwhen you realised you’d outgrown your motherand marvelled at the speed of your own bodyto hurt itself- ingrown betrayal of a toenailpicked at for eons(planets shifted, umbilical cords collapsed, a civilisation tumbled)until it healed unknown to anyone.

we have known limits.nights are for poisonanaesthesia to the ownership of matterand mornings for belonging to someone else.

my body, yours; someone reaching into your wombthat is not yours.we have various crevices and orificesand they areall connected: touch your feet and someone somewhere sneezes,or something.call it 气 or vital energy.

call your body a homecall your body a cabyour body is rock hard yieldingyour body is sweet soft resistingcurled up against the unknown limits of the night.